


The Mistakes We're Going to Make

by scheherezhad



Category: Hustle Cat
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, past Graves/Nacht
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 16:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14192736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherezhad/pseuds/scheherezhad
Summary: In which there's a dinner party, and Nacht has (mostly) learned to deal with his issues, but Reese really has not.





	The Mistakes We're Going to Make

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: [When I look at you all I can see are the mistakes we’re going to make. (The future’s so bright.)](http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=967)
> 
> No-magic au, Reese is 19 and uses negative attention-seeking habits to deal with his issues instead of trying to be his dad, and Nacht got his shit together after breaking up with Graves instead of becoming the Crazy Ex-Boyfriend, but he's still great at making bad decisions.
> 
> This is not at all the work I meant to post as the first for this pairing. I've been intensely consumed by them for nearly two years now, but writing the story of my heart for them has been a very long process that is nowhere near completion. So instead, I am getting this old prompt fic for my best cheerleader saekhwa out of my WIP folder.

Nacht hasn't seen Lance and Amira in years. They had a baby and Lance's career to worry about, and Nacht had an ugly breakdown after a bad breakup, and their paths split. They've kept in touch a little over the years, but he's in town for once, and they invited him over for a dinner party like the suburban sell-outs they are. He isn't sure what he expects when the door of their ostentatious two-story Mediterranean style house opens, but it's not a skinny teenager with posture like he distrusts the world and indecently short shorts.

The kid--their son, Reese--looks Nacht over, slow and appraising, and says, "come in," in a voice that's deeper than you'd expect from someone his size. He shouts down the hall, "one of your friends is here," and disappears up the stairs to the right at the end of the foyer.

Lance pops out of a doorway to the left and smiles broadly, and Nacht lets himself forget the sway of narrow hips above bare legs.

 

The party is better than Nacht expected, to his surprise. He knows a few of the other guests from the art world, so he isn't stuck trying to give a shit about a bunch of strangers, and it keeps him from fixating too much on Graves. He's aged well, is still so unfairly pretty it sends an old pang of want through him, but Nacht didn't dissect that flaming trainwreck of a relationship in therapy for five years for nothing.

He can deal with it until he really can't, when they're lingering over drinks between dinner and dessert, and someone asks Graves about the ring on his left hand. Nacht freezes up for a minute when the word "engaged" comes up, and he feels something like the beginnings of a panic attack tight in his chest. He manages to stay in his seat long enough to fake politeness, then grabs his drink and stands.

"Sorry, I'm gonna step out a minute," he says. He puts a hand on Graves's shoulder as he passes behind him and grinds out a, "congratulations," that he thinks he might mean after he can breathe again.

The back patio is dark and quiet, with just enough ambient light to see by from the windows and the streetlights. He takes a seat on a bench on the far side, close to the house but not visible from the door without coming outside. No one follows, and for once he's glad so many people have given up smoking. He lights a cigarette and takes a drag, counting out the slow exhale. Not exactly how his therapist wants him to handle his breathing techniques, but he isn't getting through this one any other way.

Nacht tips his head back on his second exhale, streaming smoke upward into the cool night air. Carefully manicured grass crinkles off to the side, and he shifts his gaze that way without turning his head. Blond hair catches the light first, then the pale trim on those tiny shorts. Reese drops onto the bench next to Nacht and pulls a cigarette of his own from behind his ear.

"Got a light?"

"'s a bad habit," Nacht says even as he takes his lighter out of his pocket. He flicks it and holds the flame steady while Reese lights up.

"Not the worst one I have," Reese says after a slow drag and exhale. "You're Nacht, right? Graves's old boyfriend?"

Nacht takes a drink instead of answering, but Reese accepts that as confirmation.

"I used to have the worst crush on him," he continues with a breathy, humorless huff of a laugh. "I thought I didn't have a chance because, hey, he's my parents' age, never gonna happen. Now he's fucking engaged to someone who's, like, two weeks younger than me. I mean, I'm mostly over it, but it still pisses me off."

"You probably dodged a bullet there, anyway," Nacht says, against his better judgement.

Reese turns sideways and pulls his legs up on the bench, bare toes just brushing up against Nacht's jeans. "I guess you'd know."

A burst of laughter filters out from the house. Nacht takes one last drag and stubs out the butt of his cigarette against the sole of his boot. "Better head back in."

"You can toss that in the planter. I'll clean it up later," Reese tells him, stretching his legs into the empty space when Nacht stands. "They'll be gone tomorrow, you know. I'll be here all alone..."

"That a proposition?" Nacht asks like it's not obvious, watching Reese flick ash into the grass.

"That a yes?" Reese mimics.

It's the shittiest goddamn idea Nacht has had in a long time. Things have actually been going good, up until tonight, so he must be overdue for making some terrible decisions. When he looks at Reese splayed out like he's offering himself up on a goddamn platter, he can see every mistake they're about to make, and he _wants_ it. "What time?"


End file.
